


The Omega Plague

by Jobabe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jollock - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Omegaverse, Polyamory, Threesome, dubcon elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobabe/pseuds/Jobabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A global plague has left the world's population of Omega's dangerously low, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Omega Molly has been living as a Beta, but what will happen to her once her secret comes out? Jollock, polyamory, don't like, don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover Blown

**Author's Note:**

> OK so this is a story I've had half written for a while, wasn't sure about, but finally decided to post. Omegaverse AU that I started writing way before Series 3, which is why there's no Mary in this version. The usual warnings apply - M/M/F, polyamory, Jollock, don't like, don't read. Oh and Mycroft's not as much of an ass in this one as he is in "In the Dark" but he's not exactly an angel either lol. Reviews eagerly appreciated, hope you like!

Molly's mind was in turmoil. She'd been riding the Tube home from her shift at St. Bart's when the news had broken, coming over the state-sponsored televisions provided in each car for 24-hour news access; a huge crack-down on chemists providing Omegas with illegal suppressants had ended with a series of raids and arrests and the handing over of confidential client lists to the British government.

Her own name – coded, of course – was on that list. Molly Anne Hooper, supposedly a Beta, was about to be revealed to the world as an undeclared Omega.

She was shaking by the time the train lurched to a stop at her station ten minutes later, sweat pouring down her body as she dashed up the stairs heedless of the crowds of people she jostled in her single-minded need to reach her flat. She needed to think, to decide what to do before the government code breakers figured out her identity and she was hauled off to face a very different life than the one she'd carved out for herself with her father's help so many years ago.

It had started when she was in her early teens, when her father, a gynecologist, had suspected his daughter might be an Omega. He'd found a chemist willing to provide the banned suppressants in order to help his daughter pass as the Beta everyone assumed she would be, since both parents were.

It was all because of the so-called “Omega Plague” that had swept across Asia, and from there into the UK and Europe in the late 1950s, the repercussions of which were still being felt in the year 2010. By the time it had been contained and the pathogen identified and more or less neutralized in the late 1970s, less than a third of the world's population of Omegas had survived, and a dramatic shift in their treatment and rights in every country was the result. Heat suppressants were declared illegal, their production banned in most countries, including the UK, and Bonding was actively discouraged in the few places where it wasn't outlawed entirely. So few Omegas remained that most governments, frantic to keep their unpaired Alpha males from literally running amok (the hormones secreted by in-heat Omegas were the only guaranteed way to keep the Alphas emotionally balanced), decreed polyamory legal between any fertile Omega females and a minimum of two Alpha males. The even rarer male Omegas were in the same boat, no matter their sexual proclivities. If fertile, they were forced to choose between marriage to multiple female Alphas to ensure breeding or living a life of virtual enslavement, sexually servicing unBonded Alphas of both genders in order to keep the population from exploding into civil war.

Of course such measures were protested by many, including the remaining Omega population, but the panicked clamoring for a solution to the genetic imbalance the plague had caused had drowned the voices of reason. Indeed, anyone who protested as classified as an undesirable, lumped in with radicals who felt it might be best if Alpha and Omega genetics were bred out of the general population, leaving Betas in the majority until eventually there would only be one type of _Homo sapiens sapiens._

Matthew Hooper hadn't wanted such a proscribed life for his only daughter, and even though Molly's mother had been terrified that they'd be found out and their daughter forcibly taken from them per the harsh laws in place that relegated Omegas to resources to be allocated rather than human beings with rights, she'd gone along with her husband's plans. The stress of keeping such a secret, however, proved to be too much for Amanda Hooper; she'd ended up leaving her husband to go live with her brother in Australia, effectively abandoning her daughter at the age of sixteen, when she'd been on illegal suppressants and posing as a Beta for almost two years.

That was the last time either Molly or her father had ever seen her mother, or anyone from that side of the family, for that matter. And when Molly's father had succumbed to cancer when she was 25 and still pursuing her degree in Pathology, she'd found herself truly alone in the world.

Alone, but determined to make the most of the life her father had made possible for her to live. She was almost thirty now and had become one of the youngest pathologists on the staff of St. Bart's. Not only that, she was someone who counted to Sherlock Holmes, world's only Consulting Detective – and, now, she thought glumly, as soon as she reached her flat, she would be a fugitive.

She knew she had only days before her identity was revealed; the British government code-breakers were among the best in the world and the penalties for hiding one's identity when one was an Omega were severe. If her father were still alive, he could spend up to ten years in jail, not only for hiding her identity but also for dealing in illicit drugs. Thankfully he'd divulged his sources to Molly before his passing, so she'd still been able to obtain her suppressants under the guise of “birth control” until this entire thing blew up.

She entered her building, then hurried up the stairs to her second floor flat, taking them two at a time. Fortunately none of her neighbors – all Betas – were out and about at this time of day, all either inside having dinner or watching telly, living their lives.

She spared a moment to feel jealous of them, so safe and secure, none of them living a lie. Still, she'd made it this far, had obtained her degrees and certifications and become a doctor, a dream no Omega had been able to live since the plague had turned the world upside down for them. Even if she was herded into one of the so-called “rehabilitation” facilities set up for Omega females like herself who had attempted to hide their status, she would always have that accomplishment behind her.

It would be small comfort if she was found out and forced into a life of virtual slavery, at the mercy of any Alpha who chose to knot her during her heat cycles, forced to give birth to as many children as her body could stand and then watch them be taken away from her to be raised by others. She wouldn't even be given the option of finding two or more Alphas who would be willing to marry her at that point; she'd be branded a criminal at worst, an undesirable at best, and no one would touch her outside of her heat cycle.

No. God. She shuddered at the thought as she turned the key in her lock and pushed open the door. She'd be damned if some ridiculous government mandate would force her into a life she knew she'd hate. There were places she could go, outside of the UK and Europe, somewhere her skills would be appreciated more than her ability to produce more Omega babies. She'd rather leave England forever than be turned into a mindless baby-making machine.

She'd do it, too, with very few regrets, one of the biggest being that she would no longer be able to work with the most brilliant, amazing man she'd ever met: Sherlock Holmes. When he'd entered her life she'd thought for sure she was found out, waited through many sleepless nights for him to denounce her true genetic heritage and have her thrown out of Bart's. He was an Alpha, and a strong one at that, possibly the strongest one she'd ever met. But if he'd ever sussed out her secret – if, she thought bitterly as she shut the door and turned the deadbolt, he'd ever cared enough to dig deeper than the surface image she presented – he'd kept it to himself.

Even helping him fake his death had led to no deepening of their relationship. Well, nothing past the friendship that he'd admitted to feeling toward her, if such a label could be given to his declaration that she was someone who counted and whom he'd always trusted. Yes, he'd been less cutting in his remarks to her since his return from the dead a month earlier, but that was it. Any dreams she'd had that he might one day declare his love for her – and his recognition that she was actually an Omega – had long since turned to ash. She'd forced herself to be contented with being Sherlock's friend, just as John Watson was.

And now even that was going to be taken away from her. She hoped he – and John and her boss Mike Stamford and DI Lestrade and Meena and the few others she counted as friends – would understand why she'd hidden her true nature, and why she'd run when exposed.

She was in the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do about her cat, Toby – would Mrs. Wren take him in, her lovely elderly neighbor downstairs? – when a sound from further inside her flat froze her in place. Toby was by her feet, so it wasn't him...great, just what she needed, to interrupt a burglar, today of all days! She'd laugh if she didn't know she'd immediately fall into hysterics if she loosened her tight grip on her emotions by even the smallest bit.

She had a cricket bat under her bed, but the noise had come from the direction of the two bedrooms and bath at the far end of her flat, so the best she could do was grab a knife from the drawer and hope the intruder didn't have a gun.

Of course, the most sensible thing for her to do was leave the flat, go downstairs and knock on Mrs. Wren's door and call the police.

The sensible thing, and the one most likely to land her exactly where she was trying to avoid being: in the hands of the authorities. So she gritted her teeth, grasping the knife firmly in her right hand – she knew more than enough about anatomy to know where to stick the knife to do the maximum damage if necessary – and moved as silently as possible down the hall.

Thirty seconds later the knife was on the floor and Molly was backing down the hall, hands in the air as the intruder held her at gunpoint.

It wasn't a burglar, a rapist or a murderer, although she would have rather faced any combination of the three at this moment.

It was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft Holmes. And he looked extremely vexed.

****

Molly stared at Mycroft as he continued to hold her at gunpoint, unable to speak, waiting for him to do...something. What, she had no idea. Yes, she'd known he worked for the British government in some capacity or other, but not in a job that necessitated the use of a gun. And why was he holding it on her, for God's sake? Yes, she'd grabbed a knife, but surely he didn't think she'd be so desperate as to use it on him now that she'd recognized him...

“Please have a seat, Miss Hooper,” he said with no change of expression – and without lowering his weapon. “We have a great deal to discuss before I make my decision as to how to handle this distasteful situation in which we find ourselves.”

She sat down without removing her eyes from his. Mycroft took a seat on the sofa opposite her, finally lowering his gun and resting it on one knee. He regarded her steadily for a long moment before speaking. “I see you have been prepared to flee for some time now – your entire adult life, I wager?”

When he seemed to want an answer, she nodded, unwillingly but knowing that Mycroft had clearly already discovered her secret. He must have been part of the team decoding the list of clients her chemist had been providing illicit suppressants to – or heading it up. Which meant he was here to – to what? Her mind stopped short of finding a reasonable answer to that question. The usual procedure, from what she'd read and seen on the news, was to simply sweep up the women whose secrets had been exposed, immediately take them off their meds and send them away for government-sponsored brainwashing after they'd gone through at least one heat.

“The only reason you have not been quietly taken off to a rehabilitation facility, Miss Hooper, along with the other false Betas your chemist was providing with illegal suppressants, is due entirely to your association with my brother.”

She bit back a snort; Mycroft was so much like Sherlock, answering her questions before she could even open her mouth to ask them. “So, then, what, what happens now?” she asked, hating the return of her stutter, wishing to hell she could control it better.

Mycroft gave a thin smile and clasped his hands over his knee. “That, Miss Hooper, is entirely up to you.”

Molly shivered, knowing that whatever came next, she wasn't going to like it.


	2. Devil's Bargain

Sherlock came to a complete stop as he reached the landing just outside his flat's sitting room, nostrils expanding as he automatically scented the air. Something was different, something was off, but it took him a few seconds to understand what it was he was smelling.

Omega. Not just Omega, but Omega _heat_ , overwhelming any other scent. In his flat. What the hell...

He shoved open the door but remained standing in the doorway, tension radiating from his body as he debated entering further to discover the answer to this unwelcome mystery, or dashing down the stairs in full flight. Yes, John was also an Alpha, although a weak enough one that made him a tolerable flatmate and friend, but he'd long ago agreed never to bring that aspect of their mutual biology into their shared living quarters. Besides, if he'd found an Omega to shag, he'd have had to go through the officially sanctioned government channels in order to receive permission to do so, a process he could hardly have hidden from Sherlock, certainly not well enough for it to reach the stage where he'd been given permission to bring one home. Nor would he have done so without consulting Sherlock – or at least informing him of his decision. Which meant...oh. Dear. God. No.

Had Mycroft finally made good on his long-standing threat to find an Omega to inflict on his brother, one he would no doubt be expected to share with John?

He tamped down on the panic that was arising at the thought of being put into a position where his long fought-for control over the baser instincts of his biological make-up would be irrevocably shattered. Yes, research showed that regular intercourse with an in-heat Omega helped stabilize the hormonal imbalances all Alphas were subjected to, but he'd always taken a great deal of pride in his post-adolescence ability to overcome his nature through sheer mental strength. If he could manage to control his not-inconsiderable sexual attraction to John and a certain other person he tried not to think about too often, then surely that was a sign that he was in no danger of losing control of himself and running amok in the streets of London!

His lip curled in a silent snarl at the thought of his interfering brother once again trying to impose his own values on him – and the even more distressing thought that he might actually succeed someday. Mycroft was possibly a stronger Alpha than Sherlock, although his younger brother would never admit to believing such a thing. “No,” he said, taking a defiant step into his flat and slamming the door shut behind him. “Absolutely not, Mycroft; this is intolerable! What if John had been the first one home, hmm?”

“John,” his brother's cool, impassive voice came from the vicinity of the kitchen, “has been sent on holiday with my PA. He won't be back for several days, which will give you ample time to adjust to your new living arrangements.”

Another growl slipped past Sherlock's lips despite his desperate attempts to rein in such primitive vocalizations; Mycroft had always been able to get under his skin in this manner. “Why are you trying to force the issue again? You know how I feel about...”

“Yes, dear brother,” Mycroft interrupted him as he stepped into view, impeccably dressed as always in a three-piece suit, although without his ever-present umbrella draped over his arm for a change. “I am aware of your feelings about any number of things, sadly. However,” his voice hardened in a manner that put another layer of tension into Sherlock's already-stiff body, “this situation needs to be dealt with by you and, eventually, if I'm reading the situation correctly, John.”

That last comment actually caused Sherlock to stumble back a step, his eyes darting rapidly around the flat as his mind reeled off the possible meanings behind his brother's words. All that he said, however, was, “Oh?” in a tone somewhere between cautious interest and a feigned neutrality he knew his brother would see through in a heartbeat.

Mycroft bared his teeth in a patently false smile. “Yes, I thought so. How long have you been contemplating a sexual relationship with Doctors Watson and Hooper, if you don't mind my asking?”

Of course Sherlock minded him asking, but something about this situation was more than just his brother being his usual meddlesome self; the overpowering scent of Omega heat was there to remind him of that even if he hadn't already known. Where was it coming from? Deeper within the flat, obviously, but his room or John's? His most likely...no. Mind on the moment, dammit. Ignore the needs the transport was so desperately feeling and focus on the mind. The one part of the body that truly mattered...although considering the fact that he had, indeed, been contemplating the idea of approaching both John and Molly about entering into a sexual relationship since shortly after his return from the ‘dead’ rendered that particular defense line a bit moot.

“Molly is a friend and a Beta,” Sherlock replied automatically, ignoring the comments about John while his mind furiously clicked through the possible ways he could have given his emotions away. Surely Mycroft hadn't stooped to actively spying on him now?

“ _Molly_ ,” Mycroft repeated with something of a sneer in his voice, “may be the one but really, Sherlock, we both know that she is hardly the other.”

He _knew_. Molly's secret, which Sherlock had discovered only after staying in her flat while recovering from his initial injuries from faking his suicide, was no longer a secret. He knew his expression would give nothing away to an ordinary mind, but unfortunately Mycroft Holmes fell under that category as much as his younger brother did.

Besides, now that Molly's name had been brought into the equation, he knew exactly whose heat scent was wafting through his flat.

Mycroft nodded without a question even being voiced. “Molly Anne Hooper's name was on a list that was decoded two weeks ago, of Omegas passing as Betas through the use of illegal suppressants...”

“Which were in turn disguised as regular birth control pills,” Sherlock concluded impatiently. He'd heard about the raid and shut-down of the chemist's only a few hours earlier, since he’d been out of the country since right before it had occurred, but hadn't had time to try and discover if Molly's name had been on the encoded client list. That, in fact, had been his immediate goal upon arriving home, only to be deterred by the unexpected (alluring, enticing) scent of Omega heat – and the decidedly less alluring presence of his elder (interfering, annoying) brother.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth (why was the scent getting stronger when it was clear that Molly was still safely tucked away in his bedroom?), “this is completely unethical, forcing the issue this way.”

“Oh?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he crossed over to the sofa and seated himself on it, no doubt completely aware of Sherlock's tightly controlled animosity, taking note of his brother's clenched fists and rising temperature. His smug smile certainly said that was the case. The smile vanished as he leaned forward, indicating his complete seriousness, all game-playing and power jostling put aside for the moment. “Would you rather Dr. Hooper were subjected to the usual procedures in these cases?”

That question gave Sherlock pause, helped tamp down his rising anger at his brother's highhandedness. He knew what “the usual procedures” consisted of, and no, he would not want Molly subjected to such an indignity.

Not that this was much better; clearly Mycroft was offering Sherlock what his brother would consider the lesser of two evils – and one that would kill two birds with one stone, to boot.

Irritably waving away his mind's sudden tendency to express itself so poetically, he forced himself to focus on the dilemma in which he now found himself so neatly trapped. Either he and John took Molly as their mate, married her and gave her children, or else she would be sent to one of the many government facilities for such women and sentenced to a life of sexual slavery.

“You're not doing this because Molly is a friend of mine,” Sherlock announced suddenly, his mind finally landing on the incongruity of his brother supposedly doing him a favor with no ulterior motives behind it. “You're not even doing it strictly for my sake, to 'help' me reach some sort of societally approved hormonal balance in my life.” His eyes narrowed as he searched his brother's face for some sign of the lurking motive behind the bland exterior the older man presented to the world. “Tell me why, Mycroft.”

He made no threat, needed to make none, since the only one that would possibly work on his brother was a threat to reveal his machinations to their mother, who despised manipulation in any form even though both her sons were masters at the art.

Neither man wanted to give Mummy another reason to be disappointed in them. And they both knew it.

Some subtle shift in Mycroft's expression told Sherlock that his demand was about to be answered, and he moved to the seat opposite, conceding the high ground, as it were, as a show of good faith. Mycroft grimaced, recognizing the false submissiveness in his brother's move, but allowing it to pass without comment as he spoke. “Someone needs to carry on the Holmes name, Sherlock. And we both know my...proclivities...lie in directions that don't allow for me to be the one to produce offspring.”

“Bullshit,” Sherlock shot back without hesitation, feeling a sense of triumph rising in his chest at having caught Mycroft in a lie. Oh, yes, he was a homosexual, but even homosexual Alpha males were perfectly capable of functioning with an in-heat Omega female and producing offspring from such a mating.

Mycroft's lips tightened as his brother called him on the lie, but he said nothing at first, simply glared in an attempt at dominating Sherlock into backing down.

Chance would be a fine thing, Sherlock snorted to himself as he crossed his legs and leaned back deliberately in his chair. He raised an eyebrow and waited, and finally, with a heavy sigh, Mycroft capitulated. “What I'm about to tell you is unknown to the general public, Sherlock,” he began in his most officious tones. “It was only recently confirmed to be the case, as a matter of fact...”

“What, that the so-called 'Omega Plague' actually affected Alphas as well as Omegas?” his brother interrupted him. This time he was the one with the smug smile, which only widened as he realized he'd actually caught Mycroft by surprise. “I'm going to assume this means you are one of the small percentage of Alphas born sterile as a result of the plague's lingering effects?”

The plague itself had been contained, an inoculation discovered and put to use, but it had never been fully stamped out; like all pathogens, it likely never would be as it tenaciously hid itself away in mutated form, cropping up in isolated cases now and again, but never completely eradicated. 

Mycroft was a master at the art of stillness, of letting silence express more than mere words, so it came as no surprise to Sherlock that his brother gave no verbal response to his suppositions. He didn't have to; Sherlock had known for some time now that the plague had affected more than the Omega population. Betas, to the best of his knowledge, had only been peripherally affected; fewer of them were producing Omega or Alpha offspring than they had been in the past, the data buried in statistical reports and government obfuscation, but it was there to be found if one went looking for it. The data on the effects of the plague on Alphas, however, had been a tightly controlled government secret that had taken Sherlock years of clandestine research to confirm once his suspicions had been aroused.

“So this is all about carrying on the vaunted Holmes name,” Sherlock finally said, when the silence grew so deafening even he could no longer tolerate it. “Blackmail is an ugly word, Mycroft, so please, do me the courtesy of not denying that's what's happening right now.”

His brother rose to his feet, looking down his nose in that supercilious way he had, as if the rest of the world, Sherlock included, was so far beneath him as to merit nothing but contempt. Sherlock shot to his feet in response to what his Alpha nature interpreted as a challenge, baring his teeth and clenching his fists before his intellect regained control and kept him from lunging at his brother's throat.

“You can call it blackmail if you wish, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, showing no signs of having noticed his brother's instinctive reaction. “And it's entirely your decision as to how you handle the current situation. However, you should know that when offered the choice, Doctor Hooper agreed to come here and allow you and Doctor Watson to decide if her presence would be acceptable.”

There it was, proof that Molly, per standard operating procedure, wasn't simply being offered to Sherlock as a mate, but to John as well. One Omega, two Alphas. No Bonding expected, just shared heats and offspring. Which was why John had been sent away of course; to ensure that Molly's first child would be a Holmes. As if that family name was so much more important than Watson – and naturally, he thought with a sneer of contempt, the name of ‘Hooper’ meant absolutely nothing in his brother's world view.

“Will she be allowed to continue on as a pathologist at St. Bart's if I – we – agree to this?” Sherlock asked. There was no need to consult John on the matter, since the older man would never let Molly be sent off to a breeding facility, even if his interest in her had been strictly friendly up until now. Of course, believing her to be a Beta had a lot to do with that attitude.

“I can make no promises, brother,” Mycroft replied as he made his way to the front door. He waved his hand toward the kitchen. “My people have cleaned up the biohazard dump you had in your refrigerator and stocked it with plenty of water and juice. There are prepared dinners in the freezer, the microwave has been sanitized, and I can assure you, per her preferences, there are several bags of crisps for Doctor Hooper to consume in between...well. In between,” he finished delicately. “As for her continued employment at St. Bart’s...if there is still a position available for her when she is not busy with her other duties – I understand motherhood to be very demanding, after all – perhaps something can be arranged.”

Then he was gone, carefully closing the door behind him, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts...and an Omega in Stage 1 heat.


	3. Freedom's Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlolly goodness inside. Jollock in the next chapter.

Molly sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, head in her hands, wearing nothing but a pair of knickers (completely soaked, decorated with tiny skulls-and-crossbones) and a black tank top (also soaked, although only with sweat). Her hair had been swept up off her neck in a messy bun, and she was more nervous, verging on terrified, than she had been at any other time in her life – up to and including both the day she learned her father's illness was terminal, and the day she'd been outed as an Omega and contemplated running.

Mycroft's offer – that instead of subjecting her to the humiliation of being sent off to a rehabilitation facility, he would instead subject her to the possible humiliation of being rejected by his brother – had come as a complete shock, one she still wasn't sure she was over. The only reason she hadn't flat out refused him and taken her chances at the government facility was because he'd also informed her that she would not only be expected to give herself to Sherlock, but to John as well.

Not that she was particularly interested in being involved sexually with John Watson, but at least she had no worries that he would reject her. He'd never tried to restrain his Alpha nature, certainly not to the extent that Sherlock had. If she agreed to move into Baker Street with the two men, at least one of them would be willing to do what was necessary to help her through the heats she would now be forced to endure four times a year when she wasn't pregnant. Although decades ago simply having unprotected sex during an Omega's heat was a guarantee that she would conceive, the plague had changed all that. And if she did become pregnant, she was confident that John would make a wonderful father to the children Mycroft made it abundantly clear she was expected to produce from this...arrangement, she supposed was the best word for it.

Sherlock, on the other hand...He would probably refuse. He would never give into his body's demands just because his brother insisted on it, and he'd never thought of her as anything but a friend – and look how long it had taken him to advance their relationship even that far! They'd known each other for almost five years, and she still had no idea if he was straight or bi or gay – or, as impossible as it was supposed to be based on their biological makeup – asexual. Just because there were no records of an asexual Alpha through all of history didn't mean they didn't exist...or that Sherlock couldn't be the first. He was certainly the first Alpha she'd ever met who was strong enough to dominate his body's needs through sheer mental ability.

And besides all that, Sherlock was...was... opening the bedroom, door actually. She blinked as she lifted her head from her hands. “Oh, um, hi,” she said as he pushed the door fully open and stood just inside, regarding her through those cool, blue-green eyes of his. The ones that made her knees weak under ordinary circumstances, let alone when she was undergoing her first adult heat. Ever. “Sorry.”

She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for – hiding her status, allowing herself to get into this situation, dragging him into it along with her...any and all of the above, she supposed, trying not to allow his wonderful, enticing scent get to her. It was a losing battle, but if he could fight his Alpha nature, then surely she could fight the Omega nature she'd never fully embraced?

Apparently not; while she'd been trying to do just that, her body had taken it upon itself to stand up and shed her remaining clothing, her head tilted submissively to the side as she waited for him to claim her.

Just when she thought, quite despairingly, that she'd been right and that he was going to prove to be the one Alpha who was immune to an Omega's heat, he moved. Into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, heading toward her with a great deal of purpose in his steps – and shedding most of his own clothing as he approached her.

“Molly,” he said, his normal ‘annoyed’ voice, although underlain with a bit of a growl. “You should have come to me before things reached this point. You and I both know it was only a matter of time before you were found out.”

Molly gasped as he leaned down and nuzzled her throat, inhaling deeply as he did so. She reached up and raked her fingers through his dark locks, loving the silky smoothness of his hair beneath her fingertips, almost as much as she loved the feel of his half-naked body against hers and the musky, heady Alpha scent she was breathing in so deeply. “I know,” she managed after a long moment spent simply drinking in the sight and feel and scent of him. She'd spent more than half her life with her sense of smell dulled as a side effect of the suppressants that kept her from entering into a heat cycle, and had no idea how good an Alpha could smell without them. Until now.

“I'm sorry.” She was repeating herself, but barely retained the ability to respond to his words, let alone find a way to do so coherently. “Please...just try not to hate me too much for getting you into this situation,” she managed after a few more seconds passed, during which she discovered her hands had lowered to the waist of his designer trousers and deftly undone the button and zip – all without her having realized it until suddenly his cock was in her hands, heavy and thick and hot, everything she'd ever fantasized it would be and more.

He growled something that sounded like “I could never hate you, Molly” before capturing her lips with his in a searing kiss that sent shocks of pure sexual energy from her mouth to her groin and back again.

Molly felt herself collapsing back onto Sherlock's bed, while he pressed himself against her. She felt a flash of regret that their first time together was going to be the opposite of the romantic fantasies she'd harbored ever since first laying eyes on him, since the overpowering needs of her heat all but ensured a rough, hasty coupling, but perhaps one day they would...

And then Sherlock's lips were on hers, his tongue practically down her throat, and any ability she had to think vanished entirely. She gasped and moaned as his mouth moved downward, nipping at her throat, sucking a dark mark into the side of her neck in an urgent simulation of the Bonding ritual. All the while her hands stroked his body, everywhere she could reach, shoulders to buttocks, then back up to tangle in his soft curls, tugging his face back up to meet hers. She kissed him hungrily, arching beneath him, feeling the thick hardness of his cock against her thigh and wanting it inside her so badly she thought she might die if he didn't take her, right now...

She didn't realize she'd been vocalizing her desires until she heard him chuckling against her throat as he moved his head down to tongue her breasts, sucking and nuzzling, nipping when she dug her fingers into his scalp and moaned for more – but deliberately, or so it seemed, denying her the one thing she wanted, no, _needed_ , the most.

“Sherlock, please,” she moaned, “please, you know what I need, please, God, stop teasing me...”

And he did. For the first time in Molly's memory – a commodity not entirely trustworthy at the moment – he did what she asked of him. Placed himself firmly between her thighs, fisted his cock, rubbed its head against her slick opening, then thrust inside her without making her beg him again.

Molly wasn't a virgin, hadn't been since year one at Uni, but her past lovers – all three of them – had been Betas. The sex had been good, but she'd always wondered, in the back of her mind, how much better it would be if she could risk giving herself to an Alpha.

Now she knew, and the answer was that of course it was better; biologically speaking, Omegas were designed for sex with Alphas, and not just knotting. Any female could take an Alpha's knot; they all had the same capacity for producing offspring, after all, which meant they could all stretch and fit an Alpha's knot as easily as they could squeeze out an eight or nine pound baby. But the hormonal changes an Omega underwent during sex with an Alpha, even outside of a shared heat, caused verified physiological changes in both parties’ biology.

When and Alpha and an Omega fucked, it literally felt like nothing else in the world.

And now Sherlock, the only Alpha she'd ever considered giving up her secret to, was inside her, moving, thrusting, growling at her to move with him, faster, harder – commands she willingly obeyed. Because in spite of her current condition, it wasn't just Sherlock's knot she craved, it was _him_ , the man himself.

And if the price of being with him was to share herself with John Watson, well, that was hardly a difficulty; John was nice to know and nice to look at and in the throes of Stage 2 heat, she doubted she'd be able to turn down anyone. If Jim Moriarty showed up and wanted to knot her, she'd be unable to tell him no.

The feel of Sherlock's knot forming inside her, stretching her out, filling her in ways she'd never conceived even in her deepest, darkest fantasies, brought her out of her thoughts, dazed and scattered though they'd been. She cried out as another orgasm shook her, holding Sherlock tightly to her as the instinctive need to feel every inch of him against her body overcame her. He caught her lips in a possessive, demanding kiss, no doubt feeling the same overpowering need, then pulled his mouth from hers and nipped at her neck before growling, “Mine!” in a savage tone that thrilled Molly to her very core.

Literally as well as figuratively; another orgasm overtook her, she cried out his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders and wailed her pleasure as his cum poured into her.

****

Two days later Molly was sore and tired and hungry and thirsty and in desperate need of a shower. She was also sexually sated – at least until the next wave of heat overtook her, which it undoubtedly would in less than two hours if past history was anything to go by – and even more in love with Sherlock than she had been before

She honestly hadn't thought such a thing possible, and even if it was, she would have scoffed at anyone claiming that a shared heat could intensify such feelings. Lust, yes; but love? And yet here she was, climbing into the shower while Sherlock heated up something in the microwave for the two of them to eat, marveling at how wonderful he'd been to her during what could have been nothing but an ordeal.

The fact that he'd known she was an Omega for over two years and had kept her secret still amazed her. She'd asked him about it, during the first lull in the sexual daze that comprised the bulk of a Stage 2 heat; he'd simply shrugged and said, “If you'd wanted me to know you would have told me. Since at that point in my life I was unwilling to give into what I saw as the entirely unreasonable demands of biology, it would have been pointless for you to share such information. I would never have betrayed your trust, but I wouldn't have been able to be who you needed me to be, either.”

“And now you've been forced into it,” Molly had replied, unable to keep the dejection from her voice as she picked at the plate of Spag Bol he'd prepared for her and insisted she eat.

He'd surprised her by cupping her face with his hand – God, his hands were so large! – and gently tilting her head to meet his gaze. “Yes, Molly, I was forced into this. As John will be when he returns. As you were. But if I had been allowed to make the choice myself, it would still be you. In fact,” he'd added, dropping his gaze and both looking and sounding suddenly nervous and unsure of himself, “if I'm to be entirely honest, I've been struggling with my feelings for both you and John for some time now.”

That had raised her eyebrow. “Me _and_ John?” she repeated. Just to clarify. Sherlock had given her a look that plainly said ‘Don't be thick, you heard me’ and she'd bit back a chuckle. It didn't bother her, knowing that Sherlock had feelings for John; she'd never allowed herself to make assumptions about the two of them even though John was clearly a ladies man, and assured Sherlock that she could accept whatever arrangement the three of them needed to come to.

She just wondered how John would feel about it all. And then her heat had washed over her and all thoughts had flowed from her mind.

Three days had passed since then. Three days of nothing but fucking and eating, and for the first time in those three days she could feel the molten warmth of her heat ebbing long enough for her to be able to focus on something else. Such as the ripe stench of sex and unwashed body wafting through the flat. While Sherlock opened a few windows and stripped the bed of sheets and blankets, she took a long, cool shower, luxuriating in the feel of the water on her body and enjoying the crisp scent of Sherlock’s Alpha-brand soaps and shampoo. Her own belongings were still in her flat, presumably awaiting her permanent placement here at Baker Street, while Mrs. Wren looked after Toby.

After she finished cleaning up, it was Sherlock’s turn. He’d dropped a soft kiss on her forehead before taking his sweaty, filthy self into the bathroom she’d just vacated, and now she was perched nervously on the edge of the sofa wearing one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns, wondering what would happen when her heat had fully abated.

“Fertilization is successful. Your scent has changed. You’re pregnant.”

Molly gaped at Sherlock as he stood in the entrance to the sitting room, drying his hair with one towel, another slung low on his hips and doing very little to cover his body from her gaze. Of course, what was the point of modesty after what they’d just been doing – and would be doing again, and soon? Fertilization didn’t end a heat, not since the plague had irrevocably altered Omega biology, making what was once a sure-thing more of a hit-or-miss proposition.

But she’d been ‘hit’ on the first try. Molly splayed her fingers across her abdomen, still trying to process the thought that Sherlock had fathered a child on her. Inside her uterus an embryo was forming, growing, cells dividing and the end result would be a baby.

Her baby, hers and Sherlock's. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she barely noticed when Sherlock sat next to her, sprawling comfortably across the sofa as he plucked his mobile from the coffee table. However, when he began texting, her curiosity was aroused. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock’s attention never left his mobile as his fingers flew across the screen. “Texting John. Telling him to come home.”

“But I’m still in heat!”

“Yes, I know. But you’re also already pregnant, so there’s no point in putting off your first time with John; since the agreement is for the two of us to…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be fair to deny him a shared heat until after the baby’s born.”

There was something else in his voice, a spike in his scent that took Molly a moment to interpret. “You want him, too. You want...”

“I want what I've already admitted to wanting,” Sherlock cut in impatiently when Molly was unable to verbalize her thoughts more clearly. “Both of you, in my bed, as sexual and romantic partners. If John is willing.”

“And if he isn't?” Molly asked quietly.

Sherlock shrugged, but she could see he was struggling to retain his normally cool facade. “If he isn't, then he'll still be involved in this new relationship. He'll still be one of your Alphas and my flatmate and friend. My co-husband if we decide to enter into a marriage. I've managed to survive this long without entering into an intimate relationship with him; I suspect I'll manage to go my entire life without doing so if that's what he prefers.” Then he grinned at her, one of his wolfish grins, entirely feral and entirely cocky. “However, based on certain things I’ve deduced about John, I suspect he’ll be as enthusiastic about being with me as he will be with you.”

And that, it appeared, was the end of that, Molly thought with an internal grin. Sherlock Holmes had made up his mind, and God forbid anyone should go against him.

It was odd; as a newly mated Omega still in the thrall of heat she should be insanely jealous of the thought of sharing Sherlock with anyone. But she wasn't; maybe she would be if it was another woman, someone also able to bear his child, but had no idea if that was true or not. And certainly no interest in finding out! No, she might not have become Sherlock's sexual partner (and possible wife; he hadn't ruled out marriage!) under ideal circumstances, but now that their relationship had changed, he appeared to have fully embraced the new dynamic and she wasn't going to let anything ruin it for her.

She'd gone into this thinking only that Sherlock would have to share her with John; knowing that she would also have to share John with Sherlock was actually...arousing.

She felt the tingling warmth signifying that this particular interlude was coming to an end, a flush of heat in her cheeks and corresponding flood of moisture between her legs that had Sherlock’s nose quivering like a hound on a scent. Then he was on her, pouncing like a cat on a mouse, bearing her down to the floor and wedging himself between her legs, which she spread for him more than willingly as she wrapped her arms around him and surrendered once again to the pull of biology.


	4. New Player

John fidgeted in the seat of the cab as it drew closer to Baker Street. Sherlock’s text had been unusually cryptic, even for him: _Come home, there have been developments. Need you._

No matter how many times John texted him back, he’d received no other response, and he’d known better than to try and actually call his flatmate. His frustrating, annoying, incredibly exciting (in oh so many ways!) flatmate. He’d known how long John had been hoping for a date with Mycroft’s PA, Anthea, and to interrupt him just when things were getting interesting…frustrating. Very, very frustrating. But…developments. What did that mean, exactly? And the last bit – ‘need you’ – not very Sherlocky. Needed him for what? 

A case, most likely, although John’s libido had its own hopes; he might have been seeing only women for the past ten years of his life, but wasn’t shy about admitting he was bi-sexual (well, except the time he’d told Irene Adler he wasn’t gay, but he had no regrets about lying to her). But Sherlock was the most amazing Alpha – hell, the most amazing human being, period – that John had ever met, and his icy self-control was nothing short of astonishing. Even after two years of sharing a flat – and another two years mourning his supposed death – John still had no idea if Sherlock was truly asexual (a supposed biological impossibility), or simply repressed his normal urges so well that he might as well have been. And if he had a preference for either men or women – or both – well, that was as much a mystery as who killed Jack the Ripper.

The cab came to a stop, and John paid the driver before retrieving his overnight bag and heading into the building. As he started up the stairs, his nose twitched at an unfamiliar smell; it took him until he’d reached the upstairs hallway before he identified it.

Omega. An in-heat Omega at that. What the hell? He pushed open the door to the flat cautiously, leaving his overnight bag sitting in the hall, not sure what he was about to see – well, that wasn’t entirely true; of course he suspected what he was about to see, what else could it be? His cock twitched in his trousers in response to that enticing smell, but he did his best to tamp down on his body’s reactions, at least until he had a better understanding of the situation.

As he stepped into the sitting room, his eyes confirmed what his sense of smell had already told him. He gaped as he took in the sight before his eyes; not only was there a woman sleeping on the sofa – a naked, sheet-covered woman – but it was one he recognized. “Molly?” he said disbelievingly. “Molly Hooper?” No, it couldn’t be! Molly was a Beta – a weak Beta, but still a Beta. So how the fuck – ?!?

“You know why she did it, John.” He jumped a bit at that familiar voice – and his earthy, tantalizing scent – coming from right behind him. Sherlock. And Molly. Of course; if Sherlock was going to get romantically – or at least sexually – involved with anyone outside of Irene Adler, it would be Molly Hooper. But if Molly was an Omega, an unregistered, undeclared Omega who'd been illegally hiding her status, then the only reason she'd have come out to them... “My brother's doing,” Sherlock said, and John felt him lay a hand on his shoulder.

John felt the heat of that touch through the layers of clothing he wore, and shivered. Alphas didn't typically share, but the Omega Plague had changed a lot of things in their society. With only one Omega for every hundred Alphas, well, they'd had to adapt. Just because their biology retained a great many primitive aspects didn't mean they were incapable of evolving.

“She's ready for you, John,” Sherlock murmured, his voice very close to John's ear, a low rumble that affected the other man almost as much as Molly's in-heat aroma. She murmured and turned onto her back, the light sheet that had been covering her from the waist down falling to the floor, and John heard a bit of a growl escape his lips before he could stop it. “We've already knotted, she and I, and she's pregnant so my dear brother can have no complaints that I called you home early. Now it's your turn...but there's just one thing.” The hand on his shoulder turned to a tight grip, and John managed to tear his eyes away from Molly's sleeping form long enough to give Sherlock an inquiring look. His flatmate leaned closer, so that his mouth was almost close enough to touch John's as he said: “I want to watch.”

Breathing hard, John did the bravest thing he'd ever managed in his life; he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, placing one hand over his friend's and holding it on his shoulder, while the other reached up and grasped Sherlock's dark curls in a firm grip. “Maybe I don't want you to just watch,” he growled when the kiss ended – his decision, he noted with a distant part of his mind. Not Sherlock's; his. The other man had allowed the kiss, accepted it, even – and returned it just as John broke it off.

“Molly!” 

She stirred at Sherlock's terse bark, blinked and opened her eyes and stared, open-mouthed at the sight of the two men standing in so intimate a pose. Then she licked her lips and swallowed, and John knew that, whatever happened next, Molly would be as much a willing participant as the two Alphas she'd been given to. She didn't say anything, however, just rose obediently to her feet and walked over to where they stood in the flat's doorway, completely unselfconscious in a way John had never seen her act before.

If his dick hadn't already been hard as the proverbial rock, that alone would have ensured an erection tenting his trousers. His eyes darted down, his tongue coming out to taste the corner of his mouth as he saw that Sherlock was just as powerfully affected by Molly's nudity – or was it by John's kiss, John's hand still covering his own, the fingers of his other hand still clutching Sherlock's dark curls in his fist?

Both, he decided as he watched Sherlock watching Molly, saw his friend's eyes darken as the pupils expanded and nearly swallowed up the blue-green of the irises. Just like John, Sherlock wanted both the Omega and the other Alpha in the room. And as much as John wanted to blame Molly’s heat for their mutual arousal, he was clear-headed enough to acknowledge that the attraction between the three of them was nothing new. He’d always thought Molly was cute, but her unwavering admiration for Sherlock had been as obvious as her love of bright colors and morbid jokes, and so John had never bothered asking her out, recognizing a lost cause (so he believed) when he saw one.

Now, however, Molly was his for the taking – and so was Sherlock, his attraction to whom John had fought even harder once the consulting detective made it clear that any sort of romantic or sexual entanglement was off the table, on the very first night of their friendship.

John kissed him again, even as he reached out to pull Molly closer, her scent mingling with Sherlock’s in a heady, enticing aroma like no other. John’s own scent was getting stronger, even if he was so used to it he barely noticed it anymore; he saw Sherlock and Molly’s nostrils flaring as they inhaled deeply, and joined them in a ritual older than written history. Eyes closed, faces turned toward the ceiling, just breathing in each other’s presence. The spell was broken when John felt a pair of hands tugging impatiently at his jacket; he opened his eyes and saw Molly reaching for the snap to his jeans, and suddenly there was a flurry of motion that ended with him as naked as the other two, Molly on her knees with his cock in her mouth and Sherlock kissing him while one hand buried itself in Molly’s hair and the other slid down John’s back to fondle his ass.

The urge to knot was overwhelming, overriding the pleasure he felt from Molly’s mouth and hands on his cock. He broke from the kiss, dropping to his knees and kissing Molly instead, his tongue sliding against hers, the warmth of her body and the ripe scent of Omega heat filling his senses. Soon she was on her back, legs spread wide as he positioned himself over her, while Sherlock reclined next to them, sharing kisses with Molly and nuzzling at her unmarked throat. John growled a bit at the sight, but then Molly smiled and pulled him down so he could nuzzle the other side, and she lifted her hips and gave an inviting whine as he pushed his way into her and Sherlock placed a hand on his hip, skimming his fingers down the cleft of his ass and John exploded into movement.

He prided himself on being a caring and attentive lover, but it had been a literal decade since he’d knotted an in-heat Omega and he’d forgotten how entirely overwhelming it could be. His Alpha nature took over, and he found himself nipping at Molly’s throat – but not hard enough to draw blood, he managed enough control for that, thank God – and thrusting into her at a furious pace, too absorbed by his own need to reach completion to worry about being too rough.

Thankfully, as he would later discover, Molly was perfectly fine with that. The sweet little pathologist would turn out to have a definite taste for the rough side of sex, which would stand her in good stead over the next few days. Nor did he need to worry about her reaching fulfillment; she was an Omega being knotted by an Alpha and had no difficulty orgasming. Especially once Sherlock reached between their fiercely rutting bodies and slid his finger along her clit while at the same time alternating kisses with her and John.

He felt his knot rising and gasped out a strangled warning. Sherlock pulled his hand out and returned his attention to Molly, kissing her hard while John once again buried his nose in her neck, his teeth and lips on her clavicle. She cried out as another orgasm washed over her, and that did it; John’s movements became shallow until with a hoarse cry of his own his knot formed, locking them together while his cum continued to spill inside her.


	5. Permanent Arrangement

Molly watched through half-lidded eyes as John and Sherlock lay on the sofa exchanging languid kisses. She was curled up in Sherlock’s chair, a soft down comforter wrapped snugly around her, completely blissed out and happily exhausted from six full days of heat-fueled sex. The lulls in between were lengthening; she could actually go half the night without waking up in a sweat and whimpering with need, which gave her body some much-needed time to recover from the attentions of her two Alphas. And when she was recovering and relaxing a bit – as she was now – it gave John and Sherlock time to explore one another while she, greedy thing that she was, watched.

She loved watching them kiss, the way Sherlock always made sure to let her see his tongue as it fenced with John’s; she loved watching them fuck, too, a flush of desire sheeting over her at the mere memory of the first time they’d done it, in spite of her current state of pleasant exhaustion. God, they were about to do it again, she could tell, and sat up a bit straighter in the chair, eyes shining with anticipation. Yes, Sherlock was leaning John down, reaching between his legs and skimming his fingers over the other Alpha’s cock. “Ready for me, John?” he rumbled, slicking his fingers with some of the lubricant he’d produced from the bathroom a few days back. “I know Molly is certainly ready to watch us fuck.”

Hearing Sherlock use such vulgar language was another thrill, and she shifted restlessly in her seat, all a-tingle with anticipation as John lifted his legs, bending them at the knee and planting his feet solidly on either side of Sherlock’s body. “Yeah,” was all he said, panting heavily as Sherlock reached down and rubbed his fingers over his cock, then slid them down to cup his bollocks before reaching his ultimate destination. Molly was panting as well, breathing heavily with her heart speeding up in anticipation of Sherlock’s next move, which was to plunge two fingers into John’s ass, readying him for penetration of a very different sort.

“Let’s give our horny little Omega a good show, shall we?” Sherlock purred as he leaned down to capture John’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. Mmmm, just the way she liked it. One hand idly reached down to her well-used cunt, fingers rubbing lightly at her clit as she watched Sherlock sit back on his heels, a third finger now slipped into John’s ass, and his other hand wrapped around his own cock, working it slowly but steadily. Molly was enthralled, and felt her own movements speeding up a bit as Sherlock rubbed his cock against John’s. 

She was panting, eyes wide, when Sherlock looked over and smiled at her. He leaned down and whispered something in John’s ear; her other Alpha looked over at her hungrily, and she knew what they wanted, could smell it on them as easily as she could read their expressions. She stood up, allowed the comforter to fall around her feet, then stepped over it, still rubbing at herself as she joined the other two at the sofa. She planted one foot next to John’s thigh, opening herself up to their appreciative view, slipping two fingers inside herself, working her slick inner walls and moaning a bit at the feeling. Then she pulled her fingers out and let Sherlock take them into his eager mouth, sucking her juices from her, letting go of his cock in order to thread his fingers through her hair and bring her down for a hungry kiss. 

She broke the kiss reluctantly, but John’s hand on her ass reminded her why she’d joined her two mates; she smiled at him and clambered onto the sofa, positioning her pussy directly over John’s mouth. His lips were kiss-swollen and very red, and the tip of his tongue was showing, in anticipation of the feast to come. As Molly lowered herself so that he could reach her, Sherlock pulled his fingers free, placed a generous dollop of the lubricant in the palm of his hand, and fisted his cock, readying himself for penetration.

John moaned and grabbed Molly’s thighs; she was leaning over his body, facing Sherlock, watching as he started to push himself into John’s tight ass. She loved the way John’s scent sharpened when the other Alpha was fully inside him, and the way Sherlock’s scent took on hints of pine and something that reminded Molly of crisp winter days. She loved the sounds they made; John’s slurping lips and tongue against her pussy, the slick noises Sherlock’s cock made as he began pumping his hips, even the faint sound of John cursing as Molly grasped his cock. She leaned forward a bit and Sherlock kissed her, making faint murmuring noises of pleasure. It was a moment of purse carnal bliss the three of them were sharing, and it didn’t take long for Molly to reach her peak, moaning against Sherlock’s lips as she came.

John was next, a few minutes later, his mouth still on her pussy, moving slower, more gently to compensate for her sensitivity; she felt his hands tighten on her thighs and heard him groan hoarsely as he pulled his mouth away from her. If she looked, she’d see his eyes shut and face straining as his hot cum pulsed over his belly, splashing up a bit onto her breasts as she leaned down and rested on her elbows. Sherlock came a few minutes later, fingertips digging into John’s hips as he threw his head back and shoved his hips forward.

The three of them collapsed together in a satisfied tumble of limbs and bodies, panting out their releases until John finally herded them all into the bath for a brief cleanup. Then they stumbled into Sherlock’s bedroom – the one they would all share from now on, he’d already announced – and fell into an exhausted, extremely sated, sleep.

oOo

It was strange, waking up three days later and knowing that her heat was over; she’d slept the entire night without waking, and felt no overwhelming desire for sex as she had every other time. Which was just as well, as she was feeling particularly tender today. She eased her way out of the bed, watching John and Sherlock as they slept on, and felt a pang as she saw them wrapped in one another’s arms. Nibbling at her thumbnail, she turned and headed for the bathroom, her heart a heavy weight in her chest. Now that her head was completely clear again, the doubts and fears she’d suppressed came rising up, clamoring for her attention. Sherlock said he wanted her, both her and John, but what if it was just the hormones talking? He’d spoken airily of marriage and Bonding, but neither of them had bitten her deep enough to form a Lifebond; was it simply because they were being careful of her, or was it because they actually only wanted to be with each other? Oh, of course they’d be forced to keep her around now, or else risk having her sent off to an Omega rehab, but she hated the thought of being an obligation, a duty – and what else was she, when not in heat?

She was pregnant with Sherlock’s child, and once that child was born and an appropriate amount of time had passed, she’d fall into heat again and then John would be the one to knot her, to get her up the duff (in vulgar terms). And once the two men had their children…what then? What was her place in this arrangement when not pregnant or in heat? Minding the children, of course; she would be their mother, no one would deny her that…or would they? A chill went over her at the thought of Mycroft Holmes showing up and escorting her out of the flat because Sherlock and John were happy with each other and didn’t want her and had her sent away…

“Molly? What’s wrong?”

She gasped and spun around; she’d been staring into the mirror, lost in incipient panic, and hadn’t heard John enter the room. “J-john, I, I,” she stammered, but couldn’t form the words that she knew she needed to say – the lies that she was all right, she was fine, nothing to worry about.

Lies that he wouldn’t believe for one second; he was sniffing the air and looking very concerned. Keeping his gaze on hers, he called over his shoulder, “Sherlock! Come in here, now! Molly needs you!”

The sound of a pair of feet thudding onto the floor, and then he was there, standing in the doorway next to John, eyes narrowed and nostrils quivering. With a frown he jostled the other Alpha out of the way; John stepped aside willingly, and Molly suddenly found herself in Sherlock’s firm embrace. “You too, John,” he snapped, and the other man was there as well, holding both Molly and Sherlock close.

“Stop panicking, Molly,” Sherlock said crossly. “I already told you I want you both; you’re not some convenience, some stopgap or stepping-stone so that John and I can be together. You’re our mate, and we both want you even if you’re not in heat. You’ll be the one to help raise our children, and you can damn well bet I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you get your job back, too. Right, John?”

“Right,” he said, agreeing calmly and with no hint of deception in either his voice or his scent. Molly felt the panic receding, her body relaxing as the other two continued to hold her.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly as she felt tears forming. “I just…I can’t believe I’m this lucky, lucky enough to have two Alphas who w-want me as much as I want them. You, I mean. I want you both, too, I couldn’t bear to not be with you…”

It was John who silenced her with a loving kiss, Sherlock who ran a soothing hand down the back of her head. The two men passed a glance, a silent message between them; John nodded, Sherlock did the same, and they led her back to the bedroom and sat her down, one on either side of her, still holding her in their arms. “We’re going to Bond,” Sherlock said, in a tone that brooked no arguments. “To hell with what the British Government thinks about it.”

Molly had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the monarchy so much as a specific ‘minor employee’ as Mycroft so modestly referred to himself. 

Three-way Bonding wasn’t unheard of, especially nowadays, but it was still rare, still considered a bit of an aberration even in triple unions. Nor was it easy to bring about, which was the main reason married trios so seldom attempted it; after all, what if it only worked for two of the members, leaving the third partner left out of the emotional link shared by the other two? Entirely too risky for most people to be willing to try – but of course, John and Sherlock both loved a good risk.

The question was, did Molly think it was worth it to try?

“Yes,” she found herself saying aloud, quite to her surprise. She looked at Sherlock, then at John, nodding firmly. “Yes, let’s…I want to try.”

“Oh, we’ll manage the Bond,” Sherlock said confidently. “It only ever fails if there’s a stronger initial attachment between two of the partners and trust me, that’s not something we three have to worry about. Right?” He glanced at John as he spoke, and the other man nodded just as confidently as Sherlock had spoken.

And just like that, the decision was made.

**Epilogue – Two Weeks Later**

Mycroft stared narrowly at the message he’d received from Sherlock. _Developments. Come at once._ What the hell did he mean by that? What developments? He already knew that the Hooper woman was pregnant by Sherlock – it was the only reason his brother had been allowed to summon John Watson back to Baker Street.

He took a moment to quietly gloat that his plan had not only succeeded, but so swiftly – and elegantly – as well. Sherlock’s child would carry on the Holmes’ name and bloodline, Miss Hooper would have the relationship with his brother that she’d so obviously craved, which meant she’d be an excellent mate, and John Watson…well, whatever. Mycroft had no real regard for the ex-soldier, but Sherlock liked him well enough and as long as the number of Holmes’ children matched or outpaced the Watson offspring, that would be fine. 

_Developments._ He mused on that single word as he instructed his driver to take him to Baker Street. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t actually have his brother’s flat bugged or even wired for sound, at least not since Doctor Watson had moved in. Which meant that he literally had no idea what sort of ‘developments’ could have occurred.

Nor did he care to speculate; once he arrived and made his way upstairs, he was confident of his ability to sniff it out, to use the vulgar term.

Fifteen minutes later he was stunned to discover the exact nature of the ‘developments’; not only had Sherlock obtained a marriage license for himself and his two partners, and not only had he requested that Mycroft officiate (which he was more than qualified to do) – but the three residents of 221B Baker Street all bore matching bandages on their throats. And even if he thought they were playing some sort of elaborate prank, one whiff of their scents told the truth.

They’d Bonded.

“Told you he’d be speechless,” Sherlock said with a smirk as he rested his arms on Molly and John’s shoulders. “But he’ll do it, perform the ceremony, at least once he recovers from his little shock.”

“Sherlock, that was just mean, I thought you told him what to expect!” Molly chided him, giving the gaping Mycroft a worried look. 

“You all right?” John asked, also looking – and smelling – a bit concerned. Not as much as Miss Hooper, of course, but a bit.

“I – yes, fine,” Mycroft managed to say. Bonded. Well. That was…entirely unexpected. The marriage, yes, he’d anticipated that eventuality – Sherlock had a streak of the traditional that ran deeper than he’d be willing to admit – but Bonding…

He hid his own surge of jealousy from everyone but his younger brother, who let him know he saw it, showing his knowledge in the twitch of his lips and the amusement dancing in his eyes. In spite of it all, Mycroft felt he rose splendidly to the occasion, performing the marriage ceremony flawlessly, with Sherlock’s landlady and that annoying NSY Detective Inspector as witnesses.

After kisses and vows of mutual fidelity had been exchanged, but before the glasses of sparkling water and champagne had been broken out, Mycroft made his escape. He of course offered his congratulations to the newlyweds, and had thought he’d managed to keep Sherlock’s gloating to a minimum, but of course his brother couldn’t resist, and followed him to his car. “So, brother dear,” Sherlock said in a sickeningly friendly voice, “I do trust that these developments will suffice to keep Molly off the government’s radar from now on? And of course, you’ll not need to interfere in my life as much now that I’m married and have both and Omega and another Alpha to help keep me in line.”

Ah, yes, that was better; Sherlock had just put the two of them back on familiar ground, and Mycroft felt his normal calm superiority reasserting itself. He grinned coldly at his younger brother, tipping his head in a nominal bow to acknowledge his agreement to Sherlock’s ‘requests’. “I wish you all the best, brother mine,” he replied, then stepped into his car without a backwards glance. No handshake, no hugs exchanged; he and Sherlock rarely entered into displays of affection of any kind, not since childhood. However, once inside the car he allowed his smile to morph into one filled with true warmth and happiness; he never thought he’d see the day his brother would do something to spite him – and have it turn out so very, very well.

Sherlock and his new Bondmates, Mycroft thought contentedly, would be very good for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!


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